


The Other Selves

by littlehuntress



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hannigram Holiday Exchange, Implied Sexual Content, Longing, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Twin Souls, soul mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehuntress/pseuds/littlehuntress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where twin souls are meant to meet one another and be forever bound, Will Graham remains a skeptic. That is until he crosses paths with Hannibal Lecter and his own mark appears. A scar burning red. A chase begins, one paved with denial and want, until Will can no longer hide the fact he's already met his other half.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Selves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zerdaadastra](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=zerdaadastra).



> Written for zerdaadastra. There were many intriguing prompts in your form, but I ended up going with a soulmates au since you mentioned it on your likes. Hopefully there will be something about this fic that you enjoy. Happy holidays!

  
  
  


Bottomless and dark is the abyss, red eyes look up at him from the beyond. Will can’t move away from the edge, his feet rooted to the earth beneath the soles of his shoes. He feels a rush, a thousand angry butterflies fighting for attention inside his stomach. He wants to jump in. Let go. Will feels a pull, those eyes calling to him. 

The fall seems easy, but it’s too deep, too scary. 

Pitch-black doom.

Will wakes up drenched in sweat, his dreams floating around him like snapshots of a bigger, more threatening picture intertwining together in the darkness. Messing with his head. Wearing him down.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his hands tremble as he reaches over to turn the light of the table lamp on. He swallows down the bitterness around his mouth, jaw clenched tight. The room has been cast with a faint glow, and shadows now surround him. 

Slowly, he pulls away the covers from his body, his feet landing on cold wood as he goes to the bathroom. 

He’s met with bags under his eyes, messed up hair and cold sweat. The very tired version of himself greeting him from inside the mirror. He scoffs letting the water run in the sink, the feeling of a bunch of tiny icicles against his hands and face as he tries to wake himself up further and run away completely from his nightmares. 

Things are getting a bit out of hand.

  
  


* * *  
  


Alana holds the mug close to her chest, her eyebrows knitting together. “Maybe you’re having oneiric manifestations,” she declares after a pressing silence.

Will blinks once, twice. Mouth opens ready to fight her on this one. Out of all the things she could’ve said she went down that particular road. Still, it should come as no surprise. Alana does believe in that pesky matter of souls predestined to be together through time and space. 

Most people do anyway, people that aren't him actually. 

If he had known this talk was going to turn out like this, he would’ve kept his door closed when Alana’s glove covered hand knocked on it. 

He slumps down his chair, fingers tapping against the table’s surface. He’s aware of Alana’s stare on him. 

“You should begin to consider all your options.” 

Will knows exactly what she means by options. It’s really just one option she’s giving him. One that apparently the universe has decree. 

“It could be something else entirely.” 

Alana rolls her eyes. “When did the dreams started?” 

He thinks about it, the past weeks coming back into his mind. He could lie, pretend, but Will can pinpoint the exact day, the minute, the second things started to change. When his entire world was turned upside down. The strangled breath that had come out of his mouth, his shaky steps and sweaty palms, him. _Him_. 

Alana doesn't even begin to understand just how complicated things are. 

“You’re manifesting,” she insists. 

“Except this dreams are...violent.” 

“Think about it,” she says, clutching his left hand across the table. 

Will sighs, a seed of doubt begins growing in him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He can’t explain how he ended up here. One minute he was walking towards the coffee shop and the next he had deviated, taking a tour downtown. He’s like a caged lion going from one end of the street to the other. He weighs down his options and he either goes in or goes back to his house and forever wonders if he’ll remain a runner.

He sees him through the big glass windows, his back to Will. And he can’t move, hand poised over the metal handles of the crystal doors. Even from behind, Will can see he struts with confidence, owns whatever room he’s in. Commands attention. 

A heavy crushing feeling falls on his chest, and he can’t breathe. His hands fall from the handle idly by his sides.

He’s too busy showing some people around, potential clients probably, and Will takes it as a sign things aren’t meant to be and runs away.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He thought he was broken.

Since he was a child he’s been different. Everything around him is amplified. Immense.

Sometimes he’d run away from home, his heart beating fast in his chest, every touch, every feeling has always been a bit too much. How was he supposed to notice a manifestation? The wheels of the world turning. 

What if this is just a mistake on his part, and he’ll remain just as divided as he is. What if this strike of lightning is nothing but a fallacy?

Maybe he's been right all along and the only way for him is solitude.

Around the world everyday two souls find each other, and everything changes. Two parts of a whole become one.

Alana doesn't understand fully what is going on inside him, the turmoil and the doubts and the anger. She’s already got a complete soul, the other part of her she found on a windy autumn afternoon, amidst a flurry of fallen leaves. She was struck by a pair of green eyes. Days later both saw a mark, the scar of their bond appearing on their bodies, one matching the other. A slash across their bellies. 

He has never expected to find that Other. He doesn't believe in one.

In a world where there’s someone out there who can make you whole again, Will Graham feels like he’ll remain an errant for an eternity to come.

  
  


* * *

  
  


They met entirely by chance. Beverly had been the one to suggest he’d do something already with the photographs he kept in a shoe box beneath his bed. He never planned to do something else with them besides looking at them some nights and pondering if a magazine would ever want to buy them or if it was better to throw them in the trash like useless and unwanted junk.

He had been reluctant at first, not very keen on the idea, but then Alana had brought him the address of some gallery and the name of an art curator. 

Scratch that, it wasn't chance. Not even fate. Not really. He was set up. He was pushed. 

The universe playing a joke on him.

The gallery displayed an array of paintings and photographs, ranging from the most unconventional like recreations of a crime scene to the very traditional oil paintings of trees and clouds shrouded in an orange glow. 

He looked around him, boots squeaking over the parchment linoleum floor. Everything around him was neat, too clean. 

He reached the very front, finding a desk and there was a man sharply dressed in a three piece suit behind it. Will felt out of place with his mud covered boots and flannel shirt. 

But he was already there so he marched forward, except his feet stopped moving when a pair of eyes met his, a sense of déjà vu hitting him. It was like suddenly he had stepped into quicksand and he couldn’t move and was slowly going deeper. Deeper into those eyes. 

“I’m Will, and I’m a photographer,” he said once he regained control over his senses. His words sounded stupid. What a way to make an entrance. 

“I can see that,” he responded, pointing at the camera around his neck.

Will rolled his eyes, the waves of uncertainty washing away. “Yeah, well. I assume you know why I’m here then.” 

The man let out a delighted laugh. Will frowned. “I suppose I have an inkling. What can I help you with?” 

“I’m looking for Hannibal Lecter,” Will said, reading the name from the piece of paper Alana gave him. 

His smile was almost predatory, a charming edge to it. And Will felt adrift. “You’ve just found him.” 

That’s how it began. How Will shared the rest of the day with someone who had been a complete stranger hours before. Talking, mouths running dry and suddenly it was like they had known each other for their entire lives. Gravity pulling Will towards Hannibal. Building blocks falling into place.

Three days later after first meeting him he was pressed against a blank gallery wall, Hannibal’s tongue and lips attached to his neck, sucking, tantalizing, turning him into a mess. He was almost devoured. Through half-lidded eyes he saw a couple embracing surrounded by gold, their faces contorted by ecstasy and surrender. 

“The Kiss,” Hannibal whispered in his ear. 

Will nodded, because he knew, he fucking knew. He could only let himself be pulled and kissed and tasted, trapped between the wall and Hannibal, until every touch and word was running fever deep.

Will spent too many nights in the company of Hannibal, sharing meals which were as luscious as they were tasty. Sharing their thoughts on art, and Will found out about Hannibal’s music taste, the dexterity of his fingers and what made him tick. Will realized Hannibal was the poster child of cleanliness and grace, never settling for less than what he thought is perfection. 

Every day they became closer, more tangled in each other. 

Will lost his head, there was something dangerous about Hannibal, something about his many secrets which made Will want to reach deeper. He broke the skin of Hannibal's bottom lip, aching to be inside him the same way Hannibal was in his thoughts, he tasted metallic, sweet, dark. Will pressed their mouths harder, and Hannibal kept up with him, giving him as good as it gets.

One night Will was spread across Hannibal’s bed, the satin sheets caressing his skin. Hannibal next to him, his open palm settled over his abdomen, his voice rich and smooth like wine traveling across the air right into Will’s ear. 

“The cosmos is unified, two parts of a whole. Light and dark. Yin and Yang. Heaven and Earth. There's a balance.” 

Will closed his eyes, calmed by Hannibal’s voice, right there, right inside him. He dreamt of the cosmos, two bodies becoming one. 

The last thing he remembered before giving into oblivion was Hannibal's warm breath against his neck.

Will was warm, sleep clinging to him. The sun had already come out, and Will panicked. The overwhelming feeling of being right where he was meant to settling in his guts. He gasped, willing air back into his lungs. Hannibal was within him, in his head, in his skin. Will left the bed and the room without looking back, but he was sure Hannibal watched him go. 

He just couldn't give himself up so easily. Surrender to whatever was happening, because Hannibal scared him, when he was around Will lost control, and he couldn't let Hannibal take him apart and rebuild him with a mere touch. He couldn't let go.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Two faced creatures stumble over. There’s two sets of arms and legs, the creature turns its four eyes towards him. It wants to touch him, to eat him and swallow him whole.

Wants to tear his heart apart. 

Will wakes up breathless. The image of a pulsating heart fresh on his mind.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Will enters the gallery, after much thought he’s decided to take the proverbial bull by its horns. It doesn’t take him long before he finds him, Hannibal Lecter in the flesh.

He pretends to be looking around, but his gaze goes straight to him. His feet must have a mind of their own because in a second he's right by Hannibal's side. 

“Do you remember me?” 

His lips curl into smile that almost looks predatory, Hannibal is the snake who lures him into his trap. Something tightens inside Will’s chest, his pulse picks up. It’s a bit ridiculous. 

“Of course I do, Will.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


And he’s back there, staring back into the abyss. Hannibal’s tangling his fingers on the dark curls on Will’s head. His lips hovering above Will’s. Hesitation. Desperation. Expectation.

The cat chasing the mouse once again.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The mark, that scar which showed there was someone else out there matching his, appeared a week after meeting Hannibal, after many hours spent together and their lips had met countless of times already.

The mark appeared on his lower abdomen hissing red. Without being in the presence of Hannibal constantly it almost disappeared. But it comes back, it’s there, a latent reminder of their bond. 

He can sense Hannibal’s own scar. He ignores it in favor of his non-believer past. 

But...there is always a but.

If it wasn't for Alana who keeps calling him and asking him about _the thing_ whispering like a kid with a secret only meant for friendly ears, and she wasn't a prime example of twin souls and then she hadn't mentioned Jack and Bella and their perfect symmetry then... then he would've let things lie. He would've forgotten about the obvious signs saying this was more than just a random hookup and that the constant jumping of his heart is real. 

If that hadn't happened then he wouldn't be walking around like he's been cut open and is showing his insides.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Will’s hand bumps against the scarred tissue on Hannibal’s stomach, his index and middle finger sliding over it. Hannibal mirroring his movements, eyes stuck on the red mark.

It’s unbearable.

  
  


* * *

  
  


White stark snow covers the ground like a blanket. Two figures lay on the ground, a long and thin strand of crimson goes from one end to the other, running up from the wrist of both figures tying itself around their little fingers. A thread of blood connects them from one end to the other. Bounds them.

Will can’t see their faces, but deep down he already knows.

  
  


* * *

  
  


They’re inside Hannibal’s car, Will trying not to choke with his own heart. Hannibal is waiting, always waiting for him to make a move, to give in.

Hannibal pushes away the curls from his forehead, letting his palm caress the side of his face. Will leans into the touch subconsciously. 

And finally he leans in, letting go. The angle is awkward and it's painful from the position they're both in, but the need is much stronger, the kiss breaks the dam inside him, making him want more. He feels sixteen again. Sharing desperate kisses, lips on lips and saliva inside a car with fogged up windows outside his house, like it's then and there or never.

It’s too much and not nearly enough.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Tangy, earthy. A taste he can’t get rid of. Will licks the roof of his mouth chasing it.

For days he’s been craving that kiss. That gentle yet possessive touch that rips him apart at the seams. 

He won’t say he misses Hannibal, but something inside Will screams for him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hannibal calls him on a Sunday afternoon, breaking the silence Will had become accustomed to.

“How are you, Will?” 

And that is such a useless question Will snorts. Nobody ever wants to hear the real answer. It's nothing but a formal custom, a society's norm. 

“Terrible,” Will answers. He might as well. 

There’s a chuckle on the other end of the line, and Will thinks about that saying about how what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. 

Yet he feels weaker by the second. 

“It’s such a shame. Remember I’m here,” Hannibal says. 

That’s just it. He’s there. Everywhere. He’s somehow furtively slipped into every corner and crevice of his life, leaving room for nothing else.

“I’m aware,” Will responds. 

A sigh. “Will, love is never black and white. The intricacies of sharing your very being with someone else is soaked in different shades.” 

Will thinks about the cosmos again.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The smell of smoke wafting in the air around them, Will presses his nose closer inhaling Hannibal’s scent just like the man had done it when the they met.

He had said he’d find Will anywhere just by the way he smells, Will thinks he might be able to find Hannibal with eyes closed among a crowd.

It's not a good sign. 

He can't escape him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


A web spun by small black spiders, the acrid smell of acid, bitter poison. He’s trapped, he can’t move.

Laughter, the smell of rain and wet grass. Will closes his eyes, senses the droplets against his skin, he can move again. This time he’s falling, falling. 

There’s a maze and he’s in the middle. Not a way out. But there's a light burning red.

He’s riding a horse, the wind against his face, his hair moving stubbornly. Someone next to him, the sound of galloping horses. He feels almost invincible.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He’s not always the best at making decisions, instead he’s driven by what he feels, what he sees. His gut telling him whether to go left or right. Perception skewed.

Hannibal shows up on his doorstep, he looks different in a leather jacket but still immaculate. 

Will lets him inside. His body betrays him, his heart under attack. They stand too close, but they don't move. Silence smothering them. 

“Will-” 

“Hannibal-” 

“I’ve waited for you,” Hannibal says. 

Will thinks about their matching scars, that angry slash tying him to the other man. Will might not believe in faith, but there is something here. Something beyond twin souls. Something not even the entire force of the cosmos could've prepared or prevented.

“I know, but I’ve seen savage beats rising in my dreams.” 

Hannibal smirks. “Love is violent, Will. Love is to die and be reborn.” 

“I…” 

“You are my reflection, Will. There’s no me without you,” Hannibal says. His eyes boring into him, and Will feels self conscious, as if Hannibal can see every secret and dark corner of his mind. 

Hannibal reaches for him, his thumb caressing the side of his face as if to mollify his fears. Will can’t resist. Doesn't want to. Not anymore. It’s all so overwhelming Will can feel his stomach tighten with anticipation. 

Hannibal surges forward, kisses him closed mouthed, travels from his lips to his cheeks to his lips again. He sneaks one arm around his waist, bringing Will closer. And Will moves along with him. 

Up until that very second Will hadn’t known his entire life he’d been starving, and Hannibal fills him up. There’s a place in the middle of his chest that’s no longer hollow. His fists clench harder around Hannibal’s arms, steadying him. Keeping him fixed on the ground beneath his feet, even though he feels far away. He’s jumped right into the abyss. 

He parts his lips, takes back Hannibal’s taste and reclaims it as his own. Fingers digging into the flesh. 

Hannibal is the vast dangerous ocean and Will could drown in him.


End file.
